


Unusual

by nianeyna



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-06
Updated: 2008-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-21 00:12:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/218660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nianeyna/pseuds/nianeyna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Beeton Off Challenge prompt: Holmes/Watson: men don't cry-- (or do they?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unusual

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at [cox_and_co](http://cox-and-co.livejournal.com/170764.html).

“Watson.”

“Hmmm?”

“Watson, you’re crying.”

A bit of predawn light had begun to creep into the bedroom, and Holmes had propped himself up on one elbow so as to look at Watson’s face on the pillow beside him. He had been jolted, a little, from his state of rare and perfect happiness when he saw the tears leaking from the corners of Watson’s eyelids.

“What?” Watson frowned a little, not opening his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, Holmes.” A teasing note entered his voice. “Men don’t cry.”

“Nevertheless, there is a distinct wetness present upon your cheeks, apparently stemming from the tear-ducts.” Holmes paused, uncertain. Uncertainty was an unusual emotion for him, and under more ordinary circumstances it would only serve to put him in a foul temper. Just now, however, all it did was cause a slight dimming of his happiness, along with an odd tightening in his chest. Watson was crying, and there were a very limited number of explanations for that, not all of them welcome. “Was it – really as bad as all that, then?” Holmes ventured, hoping rather desperately that his first hypothesis was incorrect. Supporting this mad hope was the undeniable fact that one of Watson’s arms remained thrown across Holmes’ waist, and he had made no move to disentangle their legs from each other. That was a good sign, surely.

“What on earth are you talking about, Holmes? I told you I’m not –” Watson opened his eyes irritably and put up a hand to his face, presumably to prove Holmes wrong. He stilled. “Why, so I am, Holmes.” Then he smiled with heartbreaking tenderness, and Holmes was entirely distracted from his fears. He had never seen that smile before, and suddenly it seemed to him a great tragedy that he had missed it all these years. His uncertainty was fading now, although the tightness in his chest remained. After a moment Holmes realized that that was because he wasn’t really breathing much, and he inhaled raggedly.

“Holmes.”

“Yes?” Holmes whispered.

Watson smiled. “You’re crying, too.”

Holmes blinked, and realized that Watson was right. “Oh,” he said. “How undignified.”

Watson was still looking at him with that utterly indescribable expression. It was beginning to make Holmes feel lightheaded. “I can’t believe you thought I didn’t – enjoy it,” Watson said, looking fond and a little bit exasperated.

“Then you don’t regret what we did,” Holmes said. It was almost a question.

“No.”

“Are you sure?” It was ridiculous to keep prodding like this, such an event shouldn’t be looked at too closely or it might collapse into ashes, vanish like a soap bubble or a dream. And yet he had to be _sure_.

“My dear fellow,” Watson said gently, tracing his fingertips from Holmes’ wrist to his shoulder, “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Oh.

“Well, I thought I had better ask.” Holmes spoke almost at random. It was extraordinary, really. He couldn’t remember having been so happy in a terribly long time. “It’s not exactly – that is to say, most men wouldn’t have, you know. Enjoyed it, that is. I –” He was blushing. This was ridiculous.

“Most men don’t cry, either,” Watson pointed out, amused.

“It seems,” Holmes breathed, “that we are not most men.”

“Your logic, as always, is impeccable,” Watson smiled. And maybe Holmes bent down, or maybe Watson leaned up, but in the end they missed the sunrise.


End file.
